


Wet

by yin_again



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Stargate Atlantis AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yin_again/pseuds/yin_again
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney McKay does not know how to swim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet

Rodney McKay does not know how to swim. His family hadn’t had a pool; neither did the families of his friends. He went to science camp, which had no swimming requirement. In fact, it didn’t even have a lake. His family didn’t go to the beach on vacations. Generally, they drove halfway across Canada to visit Grandma McKay, who smelled like vinegar and violets and collected angel figurines. As an adult, any time spent outside the lab was sleeping time. Thus, Rodney McKay does not know how to swim.

Somehow, the corporate entity that owns his lab has decided that the group of geeks that have made them a lot of money through defense contracts deserve a reward. That reward? A Caribbean cruise. In Rodney’s mind, the chances of the boat sinking are much larger than the actual statistics, so he’s not taking any chances.

Rodney McKay is going to learn how to swim. Even if it kills him.

The YMCA is the closest place to the lab that offers private swimming lessons. Rodney figures that having an instructor all to himself for an hour three times a week is the most expedient way to learn to swim without taking too much time away from the lab.

That’s how he winds up sitting on a plastic bench wearing orange swim trunks, with a green towel draped around his neck, waiting for his first swim lesson to begin. While he’s waiting, he looks around. At the end of one lane, medium-sized children are having group lesson; in the zero-entry pool, toddlers are shrieking – loudly; in another corner, ladies are bobbing around, doing either water aerobics or very bad synchronized swimming. The two far lanes have people swimming laps. The lane closest to Rodney, save the one full of kids, is occupied by a woman that even Rodney can tell is a crappy swimmer. She flails around, splashing water as her arms windmill. Rodney hopes he never looks like that.

What he’d really like is to look like the man swimming in the third lane. He’s cutting through the water like a seal. His arms come up and re-enter the water smoothly, his feet fluttering just below water level. Rodney can barely tell when he takes a breath. Dark hair is plastered to his head, he’s wearing goggles, and he’s long and lean and tanned. When he executes a perfect turn at the wall, Rodney gets a brief look at – of all things – flowered swim trunks. 

Rodney watches as the guy stops at the wall and pulls off his goggles, shaking his head and causing his hair to stand up in unruly spikes. He pulls himself gracefully out of the pool and grabs a towel hanging on a nearby railing, quickly drying his face, hands, and hairy chest before walking toward Rodney. Oh, great, Rodney thinks. I’m going to get my ass kicked for ogling a stranger at the Y.

Instead, the guy holds out his hand. “Dr. McKay?” he asks. Rodney nods dumbly and shakes the water-softened hand. “I’m John Sheppard – I’ll be teaching you how to swim.”

The first part of the lesson is conducted outside the pool, with Sheppard asking him about his swimming experience (none), his fear of water (moderate) and his goals (not drowning), giving Rodney enough time to talk his inconveniently half-hard dick down before he has to hang his towel on the rail and walk to the ladder with all the joy and enthusiasm of a cow heading to slaughter.

Rodney takes his time getting in, even though the water is relatively warm, and he's not surprised to see Sheppard slip over the edge rather than wait for him to vacate the ladder.

"Have you ever _been_ in a pool before, Dr. McKay?" Sheppard laughs, and he laughs harder when Rodney has to think really hard before nodding.

"A couple of times. In the low end or on the steps." Rodney knows it's pathetic, but it also happens to be true.

"The water's great," Sheppard says. "It takes most of your weight – everyone can be graceful in the water. It's kind of like flying."

"I don't want to be graceful," Rodney says. "I want to be alive when the rescue boat comes to get me."

"Not to try and do myself out of a job or anything," John says, fluttering his arms back and forth in the water in a way that makes his shoulders look really good, "but cruise ships almost never sink."

"Trust me," Rodney says, finally standing in the chest-high water. "Any cruise ship with me on board probably will."

 

The first week of lessons goes pretty well, at least until Friday evening.

"No fucking way," Rodney says, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Sheppard, who looks sillier than usual in swim trunks with a repeating palm tree motif.

"Look, Dr. McKay," Sheppard crosses his arms over his own chest, drawing Rodney's eye for a second before he remembers that he's being belligerent. "You have to put your face in the water. It's integral to learning to swim. It's why you're here!" He moves in closer. "Also, please don't drop the f-bomb where the pre-teens can hear you or I'll never hear the end of it from the pool manager."

Rodney glances around guiltily at the kids taking lessons in the far lane. "Oh, sorry. But, no. I don't want to."

Sheppard sighs. "Okay, look – come with me." He heads for the ladder. Rodney follows, taking the opportunity to ogle Sheppard's ass as he climbs out of the pool. God, it's a nice ass – on the small side, but muscular, and Rodney's had dirty thoughts about that ass about fifty times in the past five days.

Rodney turns toward the rail where their towels are, but Sheppard grabs his arm and pulls him toward the zero-entry pool, now thankfully clear of toddlers. He catches the lifeguard's eye and tilts his head toward the water. She shrugs and smiles.

"All right," he says. "We're cool to use it for a half-hour or so until the pool closes."

Rodney has no idea what's going on, but he lets Sheppard walk him into the pool and watches him sit down. The water's only a couple of inches deep, and Sheppard stretches his long legs out in front of him and crosses his ankles. "Sit down," he says.

"Why?"

"So we can _talk_."

Rodney gives in and sits cross-legged on the bottom of the pool next to Sheppard. The water's warmer here, and it feels okay.

"What kind of doctor are you?" Sheppard asks, apropos of nothing.

"Astrophysics and Engineering," Rodney says. "Why?"

"Just curious. My name is John," Sheppard says. "Do you think we could be on a first-name basis?"

"Okay," Rodney says. "I'm Rodney."

"Good. Rodney," John says, and Rodney really likes hearing him say it. It'll add a new layer to his already out-of-control midnight sex fantasies. "I'm a pilot, by the way."

"Huh?" Rodney says. "I thought you were a swim instructor?"

"That, too." John chuckles, and it's a nice sound. "I fly a news helicopter – I just do this as a volunteer sort of thing, for the kids."

"Then why are you teaching me? I'm no kid."

"Yeah, I noticed," John says. "I'm covering for another instructor who's on maternity leave."

"Oh. Okay," Rodney says.

"Is there some reason you don't want to put your face in the water, Rodney?"

"Yeah," Rodney says, tensing. "Because it's _my face_ and it's the _water_."

At that, John really laughs. As laughs go, it's not the worst Rodney's ever heard – he works with geeks, after all, and they're second only to actual jackasses for braying. What comes out of John is kind of loud and abrupt and semi-obnoxious, but it tapers down to something that could be sort of dirty in the right environment. He lets himself fall back to lean on his elbows, and Rodney can't look away from the way his abdominal muscles clench when he huffs out a last few chuckles.

"That's pretty hard to argue with, Rodney," John says. "Do you put your face in the water when you take a bath?"

"I'm more of a shower guy," Rodney says.

"Of course you are. Look, humor me." John rolls his head to the side and quirks an eyebrow. "Over the weekend, take a bath. And try putting your face in the water – just for a couple of seconds. If you don't die, we'll give it a shot on Monday night, okay?"

"And if I do die?"

The second eyebrow joins the first. "Then I guess I'll have Monday night off."

 

"Okay, fine, so I didn't die."

"Nice to see you, too, Rodney," John says from the pool, looking up at through his goggles.

Rodney huffs and throws his towel onto the rail before slipping into the lane beside John, shuddering a little at the temperature change. "Watch," he says, then takes in a huge breath and gingerly dips his face into the water. When he straightens, John's smiling at him.

"Now we're getting somewhere," he says.

By the seventh lesson, Rodney can float, both on his back and on his face. He can swim the length of the pool with a kickboard.

His crush on John proceeds apace.

~*~

"McKay, what's up with you? You're out of here like a shot three days a week…it's not like you. Hot new show on SciFi?" 

Rodney lifts his head from where he's packing up his laptop to glare at Cal Kavanagh, his least favorite subordinate coworker. Kavanagh _does not_ rate the term 'colleague.'

"First," he says. "I don't watch television on _television_ \-- programming schedules are for suckers who don't have TiVo or access to torrents. And, second, it's none of your business."

"I'd suspect you had a girlfriend," Kavanagh sneers. "But we all know that's not true."

Rodney really can't help himself. It's been a long day and there was the thing with the annoying phone calls and the faxes from the Defense Department and the issue with the insufficient coffee supply – really, how's he supposed to cope and think _and_ put Kavanagh in his place with a day like that? Well, that's his big, giant lie/excuse, and he's sticking to it.

"Actually," he says loftily, "it's a _boyfriend_ , and it's still none of your business."

"Sure," Kavanagh says, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, you'll be bringing him on the cruise then?"

"Well, _duh_ ," Rodney says, and then he really, really wants to kill himself.

~*~

Rodney spends the rest of the week in a daze. Of course, a daze for him is like the best day ever for a regular genius, so it isn't _too_ obvious. At least, except to Cadman, who has the sharpest eyes in the company.

"Who are you daydreaming about, Rodney?" she says from her chair at the security desk.

"I'm thinking about work," he protests. "New...stuff. And things. Important things."

"Sure," she says. "Kavanagh said you're bringing your ‘hot imaginary boyfriend' - his words, not mine - on the cruise."

"John is not imaginary," Rodney says. "But he _is_ hot. Additionally, don't you have anything better to do than talk to Kavanagh?"

She makes a face. "He's a total weasel, but he's an excellent source of gossip."

"Hmmpf," Rodney says. "I'm going to lunch; I'll be back in an hour. I've got my cell."

She waves as he heads out the glass double doors. Truth is, he _was_ daydreaming about John. More about the look on Kavanagh's face when he saw him than the cruise itself. Yes, he thinks John is hot, and yes, he's nursing a pretty big crush, but thinking about Kavanagh with his mouth opening and closing like a stunned guppy's has great merit. He whistles a little as he walks down the street.

~*~

At home that night, Rodney finds himself so full of nervous energy that he can't sit down. He paces his apartment for a while, then picks up the phone. He resumes pacing with it in his hand. Three times he starts to dial a number, but each time, he stops himself. He puts the phone down, goes into the bedroom and jerks off, trying not to think about the way John's arms and shoulders look when he swims, trying desperately not to think about the way John grins, the way his swim trunks cling to his thighs. He fails. Seven minutes later he's back in the living room, wet-haired, with a towel around his hips and the phone in his hand. He dials.

While the phone rings, he broods. If he's ever to work efficiently again, he has _got_ to get laid, so the answer has to be Joey.

"Joey, it's Rodney."

"Ha!" Joey crows on the other end of the phone. "I knew you'd break first."

"Fuck you," Rodney says, but there isn't much heat in it.

"You called _me_ ," Joey says, "so it's the other way around. I'll be there in half an hour."

Rodney sighs theatrically. "Fine. Pizza or Chinese?"

"Pizza. All the way. If I'm going to be bad, I'm going to be _bad_." Joey hangs up the phone.

Rodney clicks the off button and sighs again. As he speed-dials Camelli's, he ruminates on the fact that even his FWB is high-maintenance.

The next morning, Rodney is walking just a little stiffly, and Joey has a huge grin on his face. When they walk to the door, Joey picks up Rodney's paper. 

"Good luck with John," Joey says, and snorts at Rodney's incredulous look. "You," Joey says, tapping Rodney on the chest with the folded newspaper, "are not as subtle as you think you are."

 

When he gets to the Y on Monday night, Rodney finds all the people who are usually _in_ the pool standing around the edges.

"Pool's closed," John says when Rodney walks up beside him. He's wet and his goggles are pushed up into his hair. "Toddler barf."

"Gross," Rodney says. He grips the ends of his towel and turns to go. He feels a hand fall onto his shoulder.

"Come on," John says. "Let's hit the steam room." Rodney blinks at him. "Come on," John wheedles. "You were just going to go home, right? The steam's good for you."

And, yeah, Rodney _was_ just going to go home. There's no way he can go back to the lab, not after making the point to Kavanagh that he was going to see his 'boyfriend.' And, man, is he fucked. "Sure, why not," he says. "But if I have a heart attack, do me a favor and just let me die, okay?"

John shakes his head and laughs, so Rodney follows him to the steam room. He turns to put his towel on the bench, then jumps when he feels a soft touch on the back of his shoulder.

"Wow," John says, and he presses down on the bruise that Rodney knows Joey left there.

Rodney shudders. He doesn't answer and turns back to settle on the bench. Rodney steps back and watches as John spreads his towel on a bench and lays down at full length, crossing his hands under his head.

They spend a few minutes just breathing in the steam before John turns his head toward Rodney. "So, why am I supposed to let you die?"

Rodney sighs and slumps a little further down on the bench. The heat feels good; lassitude spreads through his muscles and bones. "Because I'm a moron."

"That directly contradicts every single time you've told me you're a genius," John says.

"Yeah, well. I had an off day."

"What did you do?"

Maybe it's the steam and the sweat and the relaxation. Maybe it's that John seems interested, and he'd actually voluntarily chosen to spend off-the-clock time with Rodney. Maybe it's just the inevitable effects of stress and over-caffienation, but Rodney spills. "Have you ever told a lie that you knew was going to come back and bite you on the ass, but you just couldn't stop yourself from doing it anyway?"

"Yes." John says it so fast that Rodney has to laugh, and they share a grin.

"Well," Rodney says, leaning back and closing his eyes. "There's this guy at work, and he gets on my nerves. He was giving me crap about ducking out early three times a week."

"So, why didn’t you tell him you were taking swimming lessons?" John's voice is slow and even.

"Yeah, because I want to take a bunch of shit over _that_ ," Rodney says. "I kind of let him believe that I was…seeing someone…"

Rodney hears the creak of wood as John moves, so he opens his eyes. John's sitting on the bench, a few feet away from him, leaning forward with his hands clasped, his elbows on his knees. "Please tell me your co-worker _does not_ think that I'm your girlfriend, Rodney."

Rodney glances away. "Uh, no…he thinks you're my _boy_ friend."

"Oh, well, that's okay then," John says, and Rodney snaps his head back to stare at him. "I wouldn't want any rumors that I'm straight to get around."

"But…you…" Rodney can feel his mouth moving, but the sounds catch in his throat.

"Take it easy, Rodney," John says. "What difference does it make? Your secret is safe with me."

And Rodney wants to let it go, just drop it, let it die. He really does. But, despite his performance with Kavanagh, he's a crappy liar and he hates it. It's one of the few things in the world that makes him feel bad.

"That's not the part that's going to bite me on the ass," Rodney says, rolling his head from side to side, anticipating the yelling. At least he's probably not going to get hit, what with John being gay and all – and, _John is gay_ goes into the mental file cabinet to be reviewed in excruciating detail later. "He asked me if my boyfriend would be coming on the cruise. And I said yes."

"Oh," John says, and Rodney can't read his tone. Definitely surprise, something else. "Well, then. Is there something you want to ask me?"

"What?" Rodney says, thoroughly confused.

"Don't you want to ask me to go on the cruise with you?" 

Rodney stares at him. John's sitting there, tan and gorgeous and sweating, his hair standing out in damp spikes, a small smile playing about his curvy lips. 

"Are you fucking with me?" Rodney demands, suddenly angry. "I've had a terrible day during which I did something stupid – which I _never_ do – and if you're going to cap it off by humiliating me, then that would just be…"

John's eyes go wide and his mouth falls open, then closes quickly when Rodney's ire winds down as quickly as it flared. Rodney puts his hand over his eyes.

"You know what?" Rodney says, sighing. "Just forget it. It's not your problem."

He looks up when John moves closer. "Yes, Rodney," John says in a conversational tone. "I'd be happy to go on the cruise with you. Thank you for asking." He pauses, then drops a hand briefly on Rodney's knee. "And I'm not fu…messing with you. It'll be fun."

"But…but…" Rodney stammers. "Kavanagh will tell…everyone will think we're…you'd have to pretend…"

"That we're friends?" John asks.

"That we're together," Rodney says.

"That's okay," John says. "Just tell them that we're taking it slow so they don't expect any major PDAs and we'll be fine. I haven't had a vacation in ages."

"It's a nice boat," Rodney says stupidly. "It has a climbing wall. And everything's paid for by the company."

"Okay," John says, nodding.

Rodney looks down at his hands. "What just happened?"

"You just got a date for the cruise. Try to keep up."

Rodney nods, but stays quiet. Too much talking and John might reconsider, after all. After a few more minutes in the sauna, Rodney excuses himself and goes back to the locker room for a quick shower. He's still pretty stunned when he gets to the front desk to retrieve his membership card. The teenager manning the desk hands him his card and a slip of paper that says, "send me the details. –J" and is followed by an email address.

Rodney's not sure how it happened, but he thinks he's just hit the jackpot.

 

Rodney strides into the room, then turns and catches John staring flat-footed at the interior.

"Dude," John says. "How'd you rate _this_?"

He's referring to the lavishly appointed suite, complete with separate bedroom and a step-down living room.

"Intellectual superiority," Rodney says.

"Ha!" Zelenka shouts from the hallway, where he's ushering his wife into their room, one door down.

Rodney pushes past John to stick his head out into the hall. "Don't start, Radek! I won fair and square. I have one more patent than you."

"Pie should not count," Radek says, shaking his finger at Rodney. "There is no honor in a victory tainted by pie."

"You have a patent on pie?" John looks adorably confused, and Rodney really has to get words like _adorable_ out of his vocabulary.

"Packaging," Rodney says.

"It is not scientific; it should not count," Zelenka says. "Our director decided that the person with the most patents would get the best suite, but did not take into account the silly pie patent."

"Silly?" Rodney screeches. "It is not silly." He turns to John. "I invented the packaging for individual slices of frozen pie – so you can heat it up without the wedge losing its shape."

"You invented _that_?" John says. "Those are the coolest things ever!"

"See?" Rodney says, beaming. "Wait, are you _impressed_? You're impressed by pie packaging?"

John shrugs. "I like pie." He grins at Rodney. "Seems like a weird way to decide, though."

"Exactly!" Radek says. "It should have been chess – a test of skill!"

"Well, yeah, I guess," John says. "I would have just flipped a coin."

Rodney and Radek just glare at him.

Radek's wife drags him into their room, and John and Rodney start exploring the suite. There's a fully stocked wet bar in the living room. Sitting atop it is a floral arrangement, a fruit basket, an iced bottle of champagne and two glasses, and a two-pound box of Godiva chocolate.

"Where'd this come from?" John says, the words indistinct through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Vendors," Rodney says. "Equipment suppliers, clients who want to suck up, that sort of thing." He walks over and grabs a chocolate, studying it closely before eating it.

"Rodney," John says suddenly, pointing across the room. "Balcony!"

Rodney hurries to the curtains and pulls them aside. When they step out, they have a view of the entire port and all the people still boarding the ship. Radek and his wife, Ava, step out to their own balcony. Ava gives them a small wave before going to the rail.

Rodney jumps when John steps up behind him and slides strong arms around his waist. "Easy," John says, resting his chin on Rodney's shoulder and speaking quietly. "Time to start playing the happy couple. Just relax."

Rodney does, leaning back against John. His chest is warm, and his hands are clasped just above Rodney's belt buckle. Ava looks over at them and smiles before pulling Radek to the rail, sliding her arm around his waist.

Rodney turns his head to rub his temple against John's. "You okay with this?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," John says. He gives Rodney a sort-of-hug/squeeze, then steps back, catching Rodney's hand to pull him back into the stateroom.

They grab more chocolate and John expertly opens the champagne. They carry their drinks with them as they explore the rest of the suite. The bedroom is huge, with a king-sized bed. They find that their bags have been unpacked; their clothes are hanging in the closet and their toiletries are neatly laid out on the double vanity. The bathroom is enormous. There's no bathtub, but there is a walk-in marble shower.

When they walk out into the bedroom, Rodney suddenly feels awkward. "You'll…uh…sleep in here," he says.

"No," John says. "It's your trip; you should sleep in here."

"The couch is easily wide enough to sleep on, and you're staying in here. Don't fight me on this, John."

John gives him a mock-scowl and jumps, landing across the bed. Rodney almost has a heart attack at the sight of John rolling up onto one side to grin at him, his hair tousled and his shirt clinging to his chest. He'd give _anything_ \- even the pie patent – to be able to jump next to John and roll him over and kiss his gorgeous mouth. He has to take a deep breath and turn away, covering his reaction by draining his glass.

Rodney waves the glass vaguely at John and escapes back to the living room. He finds a schedule on the coffee table. "Hey," he calls to John. "Come here."

John wanders into the room and leans on the back of the couch, looking over Rodney's shoulder. He smells like champagne and chocolate. 

"We're supposed to choose our shore excursions and hang it on the door," Rodney says, tilting the paper so that John can see it better.

"How about this one?" John points to a snorkeling trip. "And this one." He points to a sailing excursion.

"Okay," Rodney says. "Whatever you want. Hey, wait – snorkeling. You're only doing that one to make me put my face in the water!"

John just claps him on the shoulder and walks back to the bar to rifle through the fruit basket.

 

They have the late seating for dinner, so they wander up to the top deck to get a drink. John changed into chinos and a white linen shirt that's so thin Rodney can almost see through it. Rodney left on his cargo pants from earlier, but traded his oxford for a tee shirt.

"Get ready for the fashion disasters," Rodney says as they spot a group of his coworkers at a table. Radek, Ava, Cadman, her boyfriend Carson, and several others are ranged around the table with a variety of frozen drinks in front of them.

"Order something!" Cadman says. "We're members of the All-Inclusive Drinks Club," she crows. "They have no _idea_ how screwed they are."

Several of the chairs around the table are empty, but not two together. Rodney reaches for the back of one chair, getting ready to sit. He holds up when he realizes he's about to sit next to _Kavanagh_.

At his side, John lays a hand over his on top of the chair and looks down at Kavanagh. "I believe you're in my seat," he says mildly, and Rodney smirks when Kavanagh scrambles to get up and scurry to another chair. Rodney catches Cadman grinning at him and raises his eyebrows at her. When John sits down next to him, Rodney feels one big hand land on his knee.

"What do you want to drink?" John asks, leaning in close. 

"Something without citrus," Rodney says, a little breathless. When the waiter comes over, John orders a Scotch for himself and a banana daiquiri for Rodney.

"Hold it," Rodney says. "Why do I get the girly drink and you get the Scotch?"

"Because you let me choose," John says with a wicked smile. When Cadman barks out a laugh Rodney rolls his eyes at her. He rolls them again when the drinks come, but he's mollified that the drink is good, and when John leans over to sip some of it. Rodney knows he's losing his mind when he feels a little flutter in his belly because John uses his straw.

When dinnertime rolls around, everyone has had a few drinks, and they're all telling funny stories about each other. They get up to head to the dining room, but Rodney knows it's too late – John now knows about him falling asleep on top of his white-board markers (and the resultant red and blue streaks on his face), and the time he inadvertently burned off Radek's eyebrows in a freak accident involving his lunch and a Bunsen burner.

 

Once they’re seated, Rodney excuses himself. When he comes back from the bathroom, John isn't at the table.

"He went up to the deck for some fresh air," Radek says. "Kavanagh was putting him to sleep with a boring recitation of something I wasn't paying any attention to."

Radek's wife has a sympathetic look on her face. "Go get him, Rodney," she says. "Make sure he didn't jump in self-defense."

"I'll get him," Rodney says. "But if Kavanagh drops his guard..." He mimes shoving someone overboard.Rodney wanders around a bit as he heads to the deck. He’s cutting through a deserted salon when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. John is standing at the rail outside the salon's open doors. John's body is stark in the moonlight, a spiky silhouette. Rodney’s about to lift his hand when John moves, reaching into his jacket's inside pocket. He draws out a slim silver cigarette case that reflects a quick flash of moonlight as John flips it open.

Huh. Rodney didn’t know John smoked - he's never smelled anything on John other than chlorine and soap and a light aftershave. But John doesn’t remove a cigarette from the case. Even from a distance, Rodney can tell that what John lights with a silver lighter that matches the case is a joint.

The flame highlights John's face for a second, and his cheeks hollow as he sucks the smoke down. The case clicks shut and John slides it back into his jacket. Rodney stays still. Jesus, John even looks hot while _smoking_. Rodney’s never going to survive this trip.

Rodney’s still watching from the shadows when John suddenly straightens, flicking the joint out over the rail into the water. Another person walks up to him, and Rodney can see John's shoulders tighten. The person - the man - next to John is a crewmember; Rodney can tell by the uniform pants. The man's face is shadowed and indistinct.

Rodney hears a low murmur of voices - the crewman's lilting and amused, John's a tight baritone rumble. John reaches back into his jacket and hands over the silver case.

Great, Rodney thinks. Blackmail. He watches as John turns to go, but is stopped by a hand on his arm. The crewman speaks again. John freezes, his whole body stiff. Rodney freezes, too, watching in horror as John slides down to his knees on the deck. Rodney can’t see John's face – he’s thankful for at least that much - but he can see the movement of John's hands at the waist of the other man's pants. He sees John's long fingers flick a scrap of plastic - a condom wrapper - out over the rail into the wind.

Rodney can't watch, _won't_ watch as this piece of crap gets to have John's hands and mouth on him. While a sleazy bastard _forces_ John to do it. Rodney drops his head into his hands and listens only to the roar of blood in his ears.

Eventually, the sound of a low laugh, then footsteps moving away break through Rodney’s hearing. The next thing he hears is a retching noise that makes him look up. The crewman is gone and John is bent over the rail. Rodney watches as John spits into the water, then he turns away, moving carefully so John won't see his getaway.

 

When John comes back to the table, Rodney is sipping absently at a drink and watching Laura and Carson play-fight. Rodney jumps slightly when John's hand comes down on his shoulder.

"May I?" John holds out his hand. Rodney stares for a second, then hands over his rapidly-melting Scotch on the rocks. John drinks, discreetly swishing the liquid around his mouth before swallowing. He sets the glass back down on the table, then drops a swift kiss onto the top of Rodney's head.

"So," John says, his gaze sweeping over the empty dishes on the table, lingering on Rodney’s untouched one. "What are we doing now?"

"Dancing!" the women chorus, and began dragging the men out of their seats, ignoring the moaning and groaning their actions generate. John pulls Rodney up, tugging him close. Rodney can't help himself. He slides his arm around John's waist and squeezes him briefly. "You okay?" he whispers against John's neck.

"Yeah," John says, sounding startled.

Rodney steps back. "Come on, Radek," he says. "Let's go watch Kavanagh flail."

John, of course, can dance. He drapes his jacket over the back of the booth and is immediately dragged onto the dance floor by Laura. Rodney nurses a Scotch and watches. John dances one song with each of the women, then comes back to fall into the booth next to Rodney, grabbing one of the half-full water glasses on the table and draining it. The sleeves of John's white shirt are rolled up over his forearms - sure, he's seen John in nothing but swim trunks for weeks, but there’s something about the soft linen against the golden skin and dark hair on John's arms that makes Rodney's breathing speed up.

"Wanna dance?" John says. "Maybe we could get a slow song?"

Rodney blanches. That would be a disaster. 3.5 minutes pressed against John's body would, in any other circumstances, be incredible. However, John had already been assaulted once, and Rodney knows there’s no way he could be that close to John and not react physically.

"I don't...uh...." Rodney babbles. "I...uh, I think I'll just turn in. You should stay. Dance, Have fun."

"You tired?" John asks. "We can head back to the stateroom if you want."

"I..." Rodney says, feeling dumb in the face of John's courteous attention. He isn't tired, and he doesn't want to make John leave something he’s enjoying and he doesn't want to think about what happened on deck, and he doesn't want to make things worse. "I..." Rodney tries again.  
John lifts one hand to run the pad of his thumb over the edge of Rodney's jaw. "Relax," he says. "We can go whenever you want."

Rodney slumps back into the curve of the booth. John follows, settling himself against Rodney's chest. Faced with that, there’s only one thing Rodney can do - he puts his arms around John and relaxes. John puts Rodney's palm flat against his chest and covers it with his own. Rodney waits as John slowly unclenches. Once John is leaning fully on him, Rodney sighs and leans his cheek against John's hair.

Rodney can feel the strong thump of John's heart under his hand. It’s comforting, the beat helping to erase the images burning behind Rodney's eyes. From the way John’s clinging to his hand, Rodney hopes that he’s giving at least as much comfort as he’s getting.

 

"Tired," John says, as they make their way into the stateroom, leaning heavily against one another.

Rodney straightens and tries to move away, but John pulls him into a hug. Rodney hugs back, maybe a little more desperately than he thinks he should. John doesn't seem to notice – he’s clinging pretty tightly himself.

"Thanks." Rodney shivers when John's lips move on the sensitive skin of his neck.

Before Rodney can say, "For what?" John continues. "For tonight."

Rodney does manage to step back then. "I didn't do anything," he says. "I didn't..."

"Hush," John says. "Just...thanks."

Rodney watches as John walks into the bedroom. When he’s alone, Rodney pulls out the sheets and pillows and makes up the couch. His clothes, he realizes, have been unpacked and put away by the staff. Unpacked and put away in the bedroom.

When his soft knock goes unanswered, Rodney gingerly opens the door. The bedroom is slightly hazy with steam, but the shower is off. Rodney gets boxers and a tee shirt out of the drawers and sits on the foot of the bed to wait. John’s brushing his teeth. He does it for a long time, each minute making Rodney's stomach clench tighter and tighter. Finally, the water turns off and John comes into the bedroom, wearing a towel around his hips.

"All yours," John says, and Rodney steps into the bathroom, wishing it was true.

 

When Rodney returns from the shower, John is curled up in a tight ball with his back to the bathroom door. Rodney turns off the light. John's body is bathed in the blue moonlight, and it only accentuates the tightness of his shoulders and the clutch of his fingers in the blanket.

Rodney sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn't have anything to say, so he just puts his hand on John's back and strokes softly. He finds a gliding rhythm, and smiles faintly when John slowly starts to relax. Rodney's elbow starts aching, but he doesn't stop stroking until John is uncurled and sleeping deeply, with his hands tucked under his pillow, snoring softly. What Rodney really wants to do is to crawl into the bed with John, but he doesn't. He gently touches John's hair and goes to the sofa, hoping that he'll be able to sleep.

 

When Rodney wakes, he can hear the sound of the ship cutting through the waves a little louder than usual. The sliding doors to the balcony are open, and John’s sitting on one of the chairs with his elbows propped on his knees, looking out over the ocean.

Rodney bumps his way to the bathroom. When he comes back, John has tidied up the couch and is waiting for him. John looks awake, scrubbed and rested and ready to go, full of barely-suppressed excitement. Rodney wonders how long he's been waiting.

"Oh, god," Rodney moans. "We're doing something horrible, aren't we?"

John just smirks at him.

"We get to stop for coffee first, right?" Rodney whines. "I can't climb a mountain or fall out of a tree without coffee first."

"We can stop by the dining room. We're meeting the others there anyway."

Rodney sighs. "Witnesses, huh? I never should have let you pick the excursions without supervision. God, are there heights?"

"Nope," John says. "Depths."

"Depths?" Rodney echoes. "Like underwater depths?"

"Yep," John says. "Snorkeling."

Rodney stares.

"With fish and stuff," John adds helpfully.

Rodney's stare turns into a glare. When John's beautiful, happy smile starts to fade, Rodney gives up and pulls him close. "I don't know why I even bother to protest," Rodney says into John's hair. “And don’t think I don’t recognize this as just an excuse to make me put my face in the water.” He squeezes John once - hard - then goes to the bedroom for his shoes.

 

In the dining room, Laura hands Rodney a huge paper cup of coffee and a doughnut and hands Zelenka a ten-dollar bill.

"Crap," she says to Rodney. "I was sure you'd punk out. Damn you, Zelenka."

"It’s not my fault," Zelenka says, "that you cannot see that Rodney will deny John nothing." He stuffs the bill into his pants pocket.

"Hey, McKay," Kavanagh says snidely. "I was pretty sure you didn't know how to swim."

"I taught him," John says, stealing a sip of Rodney's coffee. 

Kavanagh gnashes his teeth and hands Zelenka a twenty-dollar bill.

~*~

“No, seriously,” Rodney says. “He walked on water running away!”

“I did not,” Kavanagh fumes. “I made a strategic retreat from a dangerous predator.”

John leans against Rodney’s shoulder and tries to focus. “Dude,” he says, speaking with the precision of the very drunk, “it was a turtle.”

“Was not,” Kavanagh insists. “It was a large, flat predator.”

“Accept it, buddy,” John says. “Turtle. Even Rodney here swam right by a barracuda without flinching.”

“Yeah, I did,” Rodney says, drinking more of the yummy red punch that keeps appearing in his cup every time he drains it. He squints at John. “Did I?”

“Yep,” John says, turning to kiss Rodney’s shoulder. “Of course,” John continues quietly. “I kind of didn’t tell you it was there.”

Rodney pulls John close and squeezes him. “Thank you,” he says fervently. John doesn’t even seem to mind when Rodney spills punch down his back.

“You know what?” Laura says from where she’s wedged herself into a safe corner of the rails. “I think John’s prettier than me.”

“I don’t know,” Rodney says, pushing John back and giving him a lingering once over. “But he’s the hottest thing on this boat. The big one, too.”

John blushes and moves back to Rodney’s side. “Quit it,” he says. “You’re drunk.”

Rodney wraps his hand around John’s hip. “I know,” he stage-whispers.

“So let’s go get some water, okay?” John says. 

John sits Rodney down on a bench and walks to one of the large coolers. Rodney notices that he’s not the only one checking John out as he bends down for a couple of bottles of water. Everyone in the immediate area at least glances at him. It’s annoying. Rodney feels better, though, when John brings the water over and crouches between Rodney’s feet before handing a bottle over.

“You okay?” John asks, drinking some of his own water.

Rodney drinks, then shrugs. “Well,” he says. “Any authority I ever had in the lab is now smashed into itty… bitty…”

“Bits?” John braces himself against Rodney’s knee as the boat rocks.

“Bits!” Rodney agrees, pointing at John. “No authority. They used to be afraid of me!”

“I know,” John says swaying a little. “But they like you now. Weird.”

“Ha!” Rodney says swaying along with John. “They like you. They think it’s funny that I’m so whipped.”

John pats Rodney on the knee and pulls himself onto the bench. “Hey, buddy,” John says, looking out at the water. “You can play it anyway you want, you know.”

Rodney hooks his chin over John’s shoulder and kisses the soft hot skin on John’s neck. He keeps it to himself that he’s not playing at all.

 

“The big question,” Laura says to the group as they struggle into their shoes in the shadow of the cruise ship. “Sleep it off and risk a pre-dinner hangover, or just stay drunk?”

Everyone stares at her.

“Drunk it is!” she announces, and leads them in an unsteady line back to the ship.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this drunk before,” Rodney says, coming up for air. John takes like strawberry and kiwi and rum.

“Me neither,” John confides. “I don’t think I’ve ever made out in public in this long either.”

“Semi-public,” Laura says from her perch on Carson’s knee near them. “We’re the only ones who can see you.”

“Great,” Rodney groans. “Laura knows how I kiss. This is so embarrassing.”

“I know how you kiss John,” Laura clarifies. “What’s better is that I know how John kisses you, which is way hotter. Oh, God. I just said Rodney was hot. Somebody kill me. That or give me more drinks so I can drown my humiliation.”

On cue, Zelenka and Ava bring a dozen shot glasses to the table.

“What are these?” John asks, pulling several across the table toward them.

Zelenka looks at the drinks solemnly for a moment. “They are…” he says, “blue.”

Laura picks up a glass and holds it out. “To blue!”

“To blue!” The other say, clinking their glasses together.

“Dance with me,” John says, struggling out of the booth to stand unsteadily next to it.

“Okay,” Rodney says. Seriously he’d do much worse things to get John close again. Besides, the club is dark and almost empty, and the lights are low.

Rodney just leans in to John, and John leans right back. They barely move to the music at all. Rodney wants to press his mouth to John’s neck and talk. He wants to say stupid things like, “you’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” and “let’s go to bed and let me fuck you blind,” and “I’m pretty sure that I’m in love with you.” But he doesn’t, he just closes his eyes and sways and breathes John in.

 

Eventually, John, Rodney, Zelenka, and Ava wind up supporting each other back to their rooms.

“Make him drink water,” Zelenka advises Rodney, waving his hand at John who’s slumped against the wall.

“’Kay,” Rodney says.

“John,” Rodney says. “Come on.”

“Hey,” John says, opening his eyes. “We made it.”

Rodney opens the door and they stumble inside. John heads for the bathroom, and Rodney gets all the bottles of water out of the mini bar, lining them up in an uneven row. He’s halfway through the second when John comes back, still damp from the shower. Rodney gets unsteadily to his feet.

When he stumbles back out of the bathroom, John’s flopped spread-eagled across the bed, snoring softly. 

In the living room, Rodney pulls down the blanket and slumps onto the couch, finally resting his spinning head down onto the pillow.

~*~

Rodney sits bolt upright on the sofa at the quiet knock on the door. When he answers it, Neville is standing there with a rolling tray. “Here,” he said quietly. “You missed the final breakfast seating.” He’s gone before Rodney can say anything.

Rodney rolls the tray into the room and shuts the door. He warily lifts the tray’s cover to reveal toast, juice, Tylenol, and a large pot of the best-smelling coffee Rodney has ever been up close and personal with. Neville is getting a huge tip. Huge.

“John?” Rodney calls. “Are you awake?”

“Coffee?” John replies sleepily.

Rodney rolls the cart into the bedroom. John is lying on his side, facing the door. Rodney pours them both coffee and hands John a mug.

Once he pours a second mug, Rodney sits down on the end of the bed. John’s moved to sitting against the headboard, drinking his coffee. Rodney makes sure to keep some distance between them.

John pushes Rodney’s knee with his foot. “You don’t have to sit so far away, you know,” John says. “It’s not like we didn’t make out for four hours or so yesterday.”

Rodney clasps his fingers around John’s ankle. “I…..” he says. “I didn’t know if that was… you know, just for show. I didn’t want to presume.”

John kicks him again. “Seriously, Rodney. Four hours? That’s a hell of a show.”

Rodney cracks a smile. “I thought maybe you were a Method actor.”

John pulls his foot back and sets his empty mug onto the bed table He snags the Tylenol and washes a couple down with cranberry juice before holding the bottle and glass out to Rodney.

“Thanks.” Rodney ditches his own mug and takes his own pair of painkillers.

“Back to sleep?” John says, again turning onto his side.

“Yeah, I guess,” Rodney says. He stands to go.

“Rodney,” John says, craning his neck up and around. “You can stay here if you want.”

“Oh,” Rodney says. He sits on the edge of the bed. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “John?”

“Uh huh?”

“ Would you go out with me?” Rodney doesn’t look up from his own hands. “I mean,” he says. “After the cruise when you aren’t, you know, obligated…”

John tugs at Rodney’s shirt.

“I mean,” Rodney says quickly. “When there’s nothing in it for you.”

John tugs again. Rodney finally looks up. “I don’t feel obligated,” John says. “And there is something in it for me, moron. You. Now lie down, and we sleep, then we get up and eat an entire pig at a fake luau.”

“Pig?” Rodney’s brain has most definitely left the building.

“Sleep now,” John says, pulling Rodney down. “Pig later.”

“But… pig?” Rodney murmurs, sinking into John’s arms. 

John pulls the covers up around them and settles Rodney against his shoulder. “Sure…” he says. “Pig later.”

 

When Rodney wakes up, his tongue feels like it’s been carpeted, but his headache is muted. All in all, he’s not dead. When he gets out of the shower, John is slumped against the sink, robotically brushing his teeth. Rodney hunts down Visine for his aching eyes, then rubs his face to see if he needs a shave. He does. He stares at himself in the mirror for a while, trying to determine if he has the fortitude to _actually_ shave. He does not.

“I think that side’s clean,” Rodney says to John, who jumps a little and makes a questioning sound through toothpaste foam. Rodney frowns at his own reflection. “You’ve been brushing the same twelve teeth for ten minutes.”

John spits into the sink and shifts the brush to the other side of his mouth without opening his eyes. When John finally finishes, Rodney waits until he’s bent over rinsing his mouth to lean in and wrap his arms around John’s hips. John turns off the water and stands, leaning back into the embrace.

“I never expected this,” Rodney says.

On an exhale that might be a laugh, John says, “Duh. I thought I was going to have to push you into the deep end of the pool and rescue you so I’d have to do mouth-to-mouth.”

“You’re crazy,” Rodney says. “All you had to do was lean forward – I’d have met you halfway.”

John leans their heads together. “Well, I kinda thought you were seeing someone – you know, the giant hickey and all.”

“FWB,” Rodney explains. “Completely optional.”

John noses against him. “Is that what you want? With me, I mean?”

“No. Absolutely not.” Rodney squeezes John tightly. “Not like that. Not with you.” Not with John. John is no Joey, not someone to call just to get off. John is so much more.

~*~

Even the pig can’t distract Rodney from John. Nor can the hula girls and fire dancers. Rodney can’t tear his eyes away, and he’s gratified that John is returning his intensity.

“Why don’t you just go back to your room,” Laura says, eating the garnish from her slushy pink drink. “You’re kind of sickening.”

“Oh, shut up,” Rodney says. “I can do without your commentary.”

Carson looks around Laura at Rodney. “That’s what I keep saying.” He ducks a play-slap.

After that, Rodney tries not to stare so much, which is a losing proposition at best. He lasts about seven minutes, then turns to John, who is turning to him at the same time.

“She’s right, you know,” John says, leaning in close enough that Rodney can smell the warm skin of his neck. “We should go back.”

Rodney shudders. John isn’t even bothering to conceal the naked want in his gaze. “You sure?”

John doesn’t answer; he just stands and drags Rodney up next to him. “Bye!” he says brightly to the others, then hustles Rodney away from the table. Out in the passageway, they pass one of the nooks that houses the lifeboats, and John crowds Rodney back into it.

“Rodney,” John says, “I need…” And Rodney pulls John in close, his hands cupping John’s face.

“Just a little,” Rodney whispers. “Or I won’t want to stop and we’ll get thrown in the brig for indecent exposure.”

“Okay,” John says, smiling. “One kiss, so make it good.”

Rodney rubs his thumb over the corner of John’s mouth. “Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “I can do that.”

And he can. Rodney is a fantastic kisser – really outstanding. Past lovers could attest. More than one had cited kissing as the only thing they’d miss about Rodney when the relationship ended. Rodney reels John in and kisses him, starting out slow, tracing John’s upper lip with just the tip of his tongue before pushing forward enough to encourage John to open his mouth. Rodney keeps it easy, tilting their heads to the perfect angle to suck John’s lush lower lip before pulling back.

“Okay,” John says, stunned. “That was a good one.”

Rodney smiles wickedly. “Oh, I’ve got more, trust me.”

In answer, John takes Rodney’s hand and pulls him out of the niche. Kavanagh is standing at the rail with his mouth hanging open.

“Hey, Cal,” John says. “Bye, Cal. Can’t talk, gotta go.” He drags Rodney away, but not before Rodney catches a glimpse of Kavanagh staring after them, horrified, as they retreat.

~*~

“Aw, come on, Rodney.” John whines, and Rodney smiles, his lips moving against the soft skin at John’s neck. With the door at John’s back, Rodney’s got him pinned, and it’s _fantastic_.

“You want something?” Rodney asks.

“You, me, bed, naked.” John’s voice is low and rough.

Rodney raises a hand – a shaking hand, he notes – to John’s face and brushes his hair back. “You are…beautiful.” Rodney’s embarrassed to say it. But he’s trying to find a way to tell John how he feels. It’s trite, but he feels _lucky_. He’s kind of impressed with the bizarre randomness of the universe that led him from a possibly-irrational fear of drowning to sleeping with John Sheppard – burning hot swim instructor/pilot/fake boyfriend.

Rodney swallows hard when John pulls them over to the bed. “Less fooling around,” John says. “And more, well… _fooling around_.” John rolls his hips against Rodney’s, pushing his cock against Rodney’s leg. “Naked,” he says.

“Yeah,” Rodney says, pushing away to sit up to get out of his clothes. “I want to see you.”

John looks down, suddenly absorbed in unbuttoning his shirt. “You’ve seen almost all of it before.”

“I want to see your cock,” Rodney says bluntly. “I want to see it and touch it and feel it in my mouth.”

John shudders. “God,” he gasps. “How do you just _say_ things like that?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Rodney says. “It’s just…I’ve been staring at you for so long now, and I want to see the goods. Seriously, take your clothes off.”

Clothes wind up thrown all over the carpet, and when they both get back onto the bed, Rodney’s shirt cuff is caught on one wrist and John’s still wearing one sock. Just a little more flailing gets them bare, and Rodney’s impatience grows. “Come on, come on,” he moans. He wants to get his hands on John – onto John’s golden skin and the pale band across his hips. John obliges Rodney by sliding into his arms and pushing his face into Rodney’s neck, kissing from jaw to chin.

Suddenly, Rodney’s at the end of his rope. There will be time enough later to slowly explore John’s body. Right now Rodney needs to make John come and to come himself. He gets his hands onto John’s ass and pulls, hitching his hips up at the same time.

John hisses as the sensitive skin of their cocks rubs and drags. Without thinking, Rodney reaches toward the bedside table. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hadn’t brought lube or condoms – there wasn’t a need when the relationship was more-or-less a business transaction. He looks down at the partially-open drawer, and can’t contain a huff of laughter. There’s a box of condoms and a tube of Wet sitting there. He pulls them out and shows them to John. “Neville is getting a _massive_ tip,” Rodney says, opening the bottle.

“He’s worth it,” John says, then moans as Rodney’s slick hand closes over his cock.

John’s cock is hot in Rodney’s hand, and he squeezes it tightly enough to get a hard twitch in response. John lifts his hips, and Rodney obligingly strokes, using the pad of his thumb to trace as far along the ridge as he can reach.

Rodney pulls back far enough to slick more lube between them. He braces his hands on the bed and finds the perfect spot at the crease of John’s thigh to snug his dick in and stroke it against John’s smooth skin. John finds his own perfect place, and they start moving together in a slow glide that picks up speed and pressure within seconds.

“Yes,” John moans. “Come on, Rodney. More.”

Rodney’s elbows are locked an aching from the strain, but there’s no way he’s stopping.

John is groaning under him, pressing up into every thrust. Oh, fuck. He’s going to come. The orgasm builds in him, tingling up the large muscles of his thighs and arcing like lightning all the way up to the back of his neck. As he comes, he pulls back enough to see his come stripe the dark hair on John’s chest and belly.

“Rodney,” John whines, and Rodney hopes that John doesn’t think he’s enough of a dick to leave him hanging.

Rodney pushes himself over to the side and gets his hand onto John’s cock and starts stroking. John’s hand closes over his own. Jesus, John’s _guiding_ him, taking Rodney on a tour of everything John likes, the things that make him moan, the things that make him come. Rodney watches transfixed as John’s face goes slack with pleasure, his eyes wide open and glittering, dark with…something Rodney can’t quite identify.

Rodney gentles John through his orgasm, watching as John falls back in a sated sprawl. It takes most of Rodney’s strength to get up, but a quick cleanup is a must if they don’t want to be glued together in the morning.

John’s quiet as Rodney wipes them down and takes the cloth back to the bathroom. When he comes back, John’s turned the lights off and straightened the sheets. When John holds out a hand, Rodney joins him, barely sparing a thought for the sofa, where he’s never sleeping again.

~*~

“’Formal night,’” Rodney says. “There is only one upside to ‘formal night.’”

“Hmmm?” John says, his long fingers busy tying his bowtie.

Rodney steps up behind John and rests his hands against John’s narrow hips, emphasized by the perfectly-cut tuxedo trousers. “Yes,” Rodney says, leaning in to put his lips against the nape of John’s neck. “I get to watch you get dressed up, and then later I get to undress you. I will suffer through the clothes and the French food for that, and I _despise_ French food.”

John turns away and slides his arms into his jacket, letting Rodney slide it into place and smooth the lapels over his chest. “Just have steak frites. Everybody likes that.”

“If you have escargot, I’m never kissing you again,” Rodney says.

John kisses him. “Liar. Let’s go – French food and blackjack wait for no man.”

~*~

“Busted,” Rodney says, tossing his cards down and watching the dealer take the last of his chips. “Easy come, easy go.”

“It was probably pie money anyway,” Radek says from beside him. “Tainted.”

Rodney rolls his eyes. “Give it a rest, Zelenka.” He sighs and gets up from the table. He gets another Scotch at the bar and wanders around the casino. Kavanagh is losing his ass at the quarter slots, and Laura is hustling Texas Hold ‘Em poker while Carson hovers, gaping at the huge pile of chips in front of her.

Rodney drifts back to the blackjack table in time to see John push the remainder of his chips forward. Rodney hands over his Scotch without being asked. John drains it as the cards are being dealt.

“All in,” John says, tilting his head back to smile at Rodney before turning his attention to the game. John takes a quick peek at his cards. “Well,” he says rubbing the back of his neck ruefully. “Are you still going to love me if I lose it all?”

“Yeah,” Rodney chokes out. He leans forward to press a kiss to John’s temple. “Yeah, I will.” And then knowing he’d given way too much away, he turns and shoulders his way to the casino door.

 

Fuck. Rodney wanders aimlessly, calling himself twelve kinds of an idiot. He hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant to let John know. Shit. John must be _completely_ freaked out by Rodney’s inadvertent admission. Who _said_ stuff like that on almost literally the morning after a first time? John was probably right now finding out how to take out a restraining order while at sea. It’s bad enough that Rodney knows he’s in love with John, but it’s _catastrophic_ that John knows.

“Rodney?”

Shit. John. Rodney sidesteps around a corner and tries to glance around without moving too much.

“Rodney? You out here?” John is about twenty yards away. From the way he’s looking around, Rodney can tell John hasn’t seen him. Small mercies.

And then the world fucking ends.

Once again, Rodney is watching from a distance while John is approached by a crewman. _That_ crewman. And, oh, fucking no, this is not happening. He can’t hear what that son of a bitch is saying, but _no_. 

Before he really knows what he’s doing – and that seems to be happening a lot when John’s around – he’s moving toward them.

“Oh, John,” he says lightly. “There you are. How was the game? Win or lose?”

John’s eyes go big and round, and he doesn’t answer. Rodney steps close and puts his arm around John’s waist, making the crewman’s face drop into some sort of knowing sneer under a blank I-just-work-here expression.

“Am I interrupting anything,” Rodney rakes his eyes dismissively over the weasly-eyed man, “Junior Assistant Purser Bell?”

The man’s smirk becomes more pronounced. “No, sir,” he says smoothly. “I was just having a conversation with your…friend…”

“Partner,” Rodney interjects, pulling John a little closer to his side.

“Partner,” the purser amends smoothly. He narrows his eyes at John and adds, “Would you like to join in?”

Rodney hears it for the threat to expose John that it is, and John stiffens beside him.

“Wholly unnecessary,” Rodney says. “I was thinking of walking down to the purser’s desk for a conversation. It seems there have been rumors of some petty theft aboard. Chief Purser Haldstrom will probably want to see about some sort of search herself.”

“Likely not,” Bell says, trying for nonchalant and missing by a mile. “There could be some repercussions regarding…substances…I would think, perhaps.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” Rodney says. “I expect that someone who would steal from passengers might also be in possession of some sort of untraceable…substances…that could possibly be stored inside a piece of _engraved_ personal property.”

Bells eyes bulge out and he steps back a little from Rodney.

“Of course,” Rodney continues, as smooth and authoritative as ever. “The items in question could have been…misplaced.”

Bell backs up, starting to babble. “Yes, that could be a problem, um...lost things…I could see what I can find out about lost and found?”

Rodney tips an eyebrow at him. “That sounds appropriate.”

The purser steps even _farther_ back, then reaches into his jacket and hands over the silver case and lighter. Rodney takes them and dismisses the man with a hand gesture.

Once Bell has scurried off with his tail between his legs, Rodney hands the case and lighter to John, who flings them hard into the water. John faces into the wind. “How’d you know it was engraved?”

“Kind of a Hail Mary,” Rodney says. “It seemed to be expensive, so it stood to reason.”

John makes a small snorting noise, but he doesn’t turn back. “You knew,” he says.

Rodney steps up beside John at the rail, also looking out over the water. “I saw – on accident, I swear! But, yeah, I saw. I should have stopped it then. I’m so sorry.”

John sighs. “Rodney, it’s okay. You didn’t know. It’s just an occasional thing, the smoking. I think we can call that a broken habit.”

“Okay,” Rodney says. “I don’t actually care one way or the other. You should have seen the stuff we cooked up in grad school.” He pauses. “We could have made a fortune,” he muses, “but we just wanted to stay awake 22 hours a day to out-do the next guy.”

“You’re a strange man, Rodney McKay,” John says. “But you were a real badass tonight.” He covers Rodney’s hand on the rail. “Bad. Ass.”

Rodney bumps their shoulders. “I _was_ pretty bad-assed, wasn’t I?”

“I think you made him piss his pants.” John bumps back.

“Really?” Rodney’s incredulous – and a bit proud – at the thought.

“No, not really,” John says. 

Turning a bit, Rodney can see the edge of John’s smile, so he leans in and kisses the corner of John’s mouth. John turns and slips into Rodney’s arms for a real kiss. John smiles into the kiss, and Rodney does, too.

The kiss is soft and sweet with the promise of more. Rodney feels good. He feels a little smug and a lot in love. He’s got a pretty good thing going. He’s a badass. He’s got minions who are no longer afraid of him. He’s got a burning-hot, not-fake boyfriend. And – oh, yeah – he knows how to swim.

~end


End file.
